"Elves?" the dwarf sneers. "Yes, elves, you have a problem with elves?' Sheridan interlinks his fingers and cracks his knuckles in a threatening cacophony. 'You racist against elves?" The dwarf cocks his head, mouth turning into a tight frown, "nah, guess I love 'em." "Good."
Her prison is a palace on a lush island paradise. Her every desire is granted, but still, it's a prison. Her crime? Family lineage. Through the inky blackness of night, she watches a boat approach. With it comes freedom and by the Gods her people will now know the nightmare of her name.
Green and lush, pure and perfect, she steps gingerly from crystal clear water onto the black silt bank of the deep underground lake bank. The Old One breathes deep. It has been so long since she has tasted air. Actual air. She is disappointed. The air is musky with guano and mold. She digs her …
Arrows fill the sky blocking out the sun. Hundreds of gaberdine armored bodies splash into the murky-water below. Wounded, they drown slowly. The survivors crush back against a closed drawbridge away from the infantry wielded lances piercing through a closed gate. Until a boy releases the lever, dying a hero.
“What happened?” his vision dances and blurs. “Ye died.” “Nay.” “Aye.” The boy thinks of things he never did. Losing it with Becky. Killing his first, Seeing his maw again. His chin dimples. “O’ now, ole pop toldya whimsy lad. Ye dinnae die, just gonna feel it for a bit.”